


Italian Cheese

by pturple_ptatoe



Category: The Secret Life of Walter Mitty - James Thurber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pturple_ptatoe/pseuds/pturple_ptatoe
Summary: Another daydream of Walter Mitty.
Kudos: 2





	Italian Cheese

“Come on, Walter, you’ve barely eaten any of your food. I thought you liked Tom’s Diner.” Mrs. Mitty frowned at her husband.

Walter Mitty shrugged, moving his food around with his fork. “I don’t like meatloaf much.”

“What do you mean you don’t like meatloaf?” She took a swig of her Pepsi-Cola. “And didn’t I tell you to bring an umbrella? The radio said it would rain.”

Mitty glanced out the window, seeing the moderate drizzle. “It wasn’t raining when we walked in.”

Mrs. Mitty wiped her hands with a napkin. “Well, it’s raining now.” She stood up. “I’m gonna use the restroom. You better have some of your meatloaf eaten when I come back.”

Mitty turned to watch her leave. Once she was out of sight, he reached over and ate a handful of fries from her plate. 

A young couple seated themselves in the booth in front of him.

“. . . and speaking of the papers, did you read about that big crime boss that finally got arrested?” the woman gushed to the man. “Oh, I forget the name! It was something Italian. Do you remember it, John?”

“Wasn’t it Mascarpone, or something?”

The woman shook her head. “No no, it can’t it be Mascarpone. I know for a fact that’s a type of cheese. Kind of like Philadelphia. I see it in that supermarket . . . ”

. . . Mitty’s surroundings were a blur as he fled through the heavy downpour. His lungs burned and there was a sharp stitch at his side. He slowed down to jog and then to a walk, trying to catch his breath. A bolt of lightning lit the gloomy evening with a boom of thunder following shortly after. He needed to get inside. He would die from the wet and cold before they even got to him if he stayed out here for too much longer. He spotted a small diner at the corner. Yes, that would have to do.

He slipped into a booth, peeling off his drenched overcoat. He couldn’t stay here for long. They would track him down, they had eyes everywhere. Mitty sighed. He should have left the Scamorza family a long time ago. He had said that each time would be his last. But look at him now: a dead man walking. He knew if Pecorino was after him, so would be Taleggio. Might as well assume Bocconcini too.

“What can I getcha, dearie?” the waitress asked.

“Coffee,” he replied. He could do with a hot drink.

With a steaming mug in his hands, Mitty pondered what the hell he should do. Flee the country would be the best bet. Start over, go legit. He might just lose them if he went overseas. In his peripheral vision, he saw a couple of men enter.

He ducked just in time as a bullet whizzed past his head. Distantly, he heard the sound of screams. Pulling out a gun of his own, he fired at the two gunmen. He saw one crumple. The other shot at him again, but it only grazed his shoulder as he made a dash toward the kitchen. Without bothering to check if his returned shot was true, Mitty bolted through the back door, escaping into the . . .

Mrs. Mitty sat back into the booth. Walter Mitty hastily shoved a bite of vile meatloaf in his mouth. She peered at her plate.

“Did you eat my fries?” she accused.

“Uh . . .” said Mitty, mouth still full with meatloaf.

The rain shortly ceased while the Mittys finished their meal. Walter Mitty placed the money on the table.

“Walter, that’s too much for the tip,” Mrs. Mitty complained. “She wasn’t even that good.” 

She took some money back before they left the diner.

**Author's Note:**

> All the crime boss names are Italian cheeses!


End file.
